


End Of The Line

by DragonWagonOfCamels



Category: Banana Bus Squad, Phandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Abuse, Adam is really mean in this, Angst, Aromantic, Bad French, Bartenders, Blood, Bromance, Detectives, Grieving, Guns, I'm Sorry, Insanity, M/M, Marriage, Murder, Mystery, Rare Pairings, i needed a villain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-03-29 21:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13935480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonWagonOfCamels/pseuds/DragonWagonOfCamels
Summary: After the death of his husband, Mark Fischbach and his partner, Evan Fong, set out to find why he’d been murdered.  He will stop at nothing to get justice for his death.Brian Hanby will do anything to assure his fiancé is happy, even if that means joining a shady organization and hunting down targets with Adam Montoya.David Nagle would rather spend his time going from casino to bar, taking his money and leaving.  But as his partner’s past comes back to haunt him, he has to find a way where Marcel doesn’t end up dead or in jail.Smitty Laite is trying his best to launch his singing career, get out of an unhealthy relationship, and somehow manages to catch the attention of a handsome bartender in the process.Dan and Phil Howell-Lester just want to go back to England.  But they can’t do that without bringing back fugitive Marcel Cunningham.And John Cryo is finding out more than he should be, somehow managing to make friends with a moving target by the name Ohmwrecker.





	1. The Bar Down The Street

  
His breath quickened as he turned the corner, looking back to his followers. A dead end brought him to his knees. He turned around, feeling the barrel of the gun press into his forehead. He wasn’t made to survive this, but at least those he knew would be okay. The trigger was pulled and his skull hit the ground.

**Local Lawyer, Anthony Fischbach, found dead in alleyway. October 3rd, 1958.**

Evan Fong looked down at the paper, scowling at the headline. Dropping it on the pool table, he turned to the bartender. One of his closest friends, Tyler Wilds, raised an eyebrow. He tossed him the paper, expression grim. Tyler rubbed his temples, straightening his jacket. “That’s the second one this week.” He told the detective, bitter. Craig Thompson entered from the back room, side by side with Mark Fischback. The red-haired man didn’t look at anyone, exiting the quiet bar. “Is he gonna be okay?” Tyler muttered, “Don’t you think he may be getting a little close to the case?”

“Yeah but he’s not gonna let up anyways. I’d like to keep an eye on him. Have you seen any sign of Sean?” Evan asked, looking around. Craig shook his head, finding it unsettling how fast his personality could change. Their partners had a tendency to go off on their own, that annoyed them to no end. Much more when they were dealing with more dangerous subjects. “I’ll go talk to Mark, find him.” He ordered and left the two alone.

In all their years working together, Evan hadn’t seen Mark so serious. He leaned against the corner of the wall, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He’d stopped ages ago, swearing never to light another. This excluded having them on him. People could be persuaded by the strangest things. “Do you know how long he’s had this ring?” Mark held up a silver band, too slim to fit his fingers, which had an identical one on his. Evan shook his head, recalling him talking about his husband but never how long. “Since we were in high school. He’d done it first and I said I wasn’t ready. He wore it anyways. Ten years, Fong. You hold onto yours and don’t let go. I don’t know what Anthony was involved in but I swear I’m going to make those bastards pay.” Evan nodded, looking down at the rose gold jewelry on his hand. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he bought it. It was a spur of the moment thing, resulting in a young marriage that had survived to see him reach 26.

“Don’t get hurt, that’s all I’m gonna ask.” He replied, thinking back to Anthony. He had met him a few times, finding him funny but more reserved than he first let on. His husband had always seemed to get along with him, though. Oh no. He hadn’t told Brock, no one had told him. He turned to where his house was, apologizing to Mark before running down the street.

-+-

Brian Hanby looked down at the dead body, swallowing his fear. Adam Montoya, his partner in crime, gave him a crazed look. “It gets fun once you learn what you’re doing, trust me.” He patted his shoulder before blowing the smoke away from the end of his gun. Blood had dried on his face, enough that it dripped down his neck. He pulled up a well hidden black bandana, covering his face and handing Brian one. “Don’t get recognized. We’ve gotta be quick, the boss is waiting.” He notified.

The two walked in silence apart from the sound of saxophone from a club across the street. He convinced himself he was doing the same thing. He wasn’t the murderer, and he was doing this to help his family. They didn’t need to know the exact business he was in. Scotty was relying on him, there wasn’t room to let him down. It was his one option, when he thought of it. Having learned to handle all sorts of weaponry from his dad and the skills he’d gotten from exploring the fields and forests of Ireland, this was the best option.

“You’re back soon.” A voice spoke up from behind him. He reached for his gun, but Adam’s hand latched onto his wrist. He pushed him back, approaching the young man. He wore a polka dot dress that didn’t reach his knees. With a matching pair of red heels and lips, he was somehow intimidating yet not at all. Adam’s hands traced his open back, smirking and mumbling into his ear. Brian couldn’t help but notice how tense the young man looked, pained expression out of Adam’s view. He stepped away, approaching Brian instead. “Smitty Laite, and you’re Hanby, right?” He held out his hand, which he shook.

“Yes. You’re French?” He asked. Smitty nodded, locking arms with Adam and taking the lead with him. Brian didn’t mean to impose, but he had been working with Adam for a month without a mention of Smitty. Though dark, the streetlights showed him several reasons why he hadn’t. White lines and blue bruises were shown off on his back and arms, sickening him further with Adam. The man looked like the most innocent person in the room, yet held a temper with a death count.

They separated a few minutes later, homes in other ends of town. Either that or the headquarters was nowhere near Brian’s home. Adam did say he needed to report back to his boss. He paused as he entered the suburban neighborhoods, wondering if any other family man was leading a double life. Brian shook off the thought and walked up his driveway. He unlocked the door, met with a hug from his fiancé. “Why were you out so late?” Scott asked, half concerned and half skeptical. Brian smiled, kissing his head,

“Montoya needed me late, s’all. I won’t be late for the rest of the week, swear.” He promised, holding his hands. Scott hummed in concentration, looking for a lie. Finding none, he lead him to the couch. “You have any plans for the night?” He asked as Scott pushed him against the furniture.

“Maybe the night. And the morning too.” He teased, holding his face in his hand. “You’re getting scruffy so maybe not.” Scott moved to get up but Brian pulled him into a kiss.

“You love it, don’t lie.”

+-+

“Sorry boys, I win.” David Nagle looked up at the, now broke, poker players. “Good game, I’d think. Too bad you got bested by a...what had you said? Oh right, ‘a cursed Proddy’.” He glanced over to the mentioned man. He covered his face in shame, getting up from the table and leaving with the rest. Counting his money, David put it in his pocket and looked back at who served as protection from angry losers. “Here’s your pay, Marcel.” He cut the pay in half, handing it to him, “they didn’t say anything about you, right?”

“Never do.” He answered, smiling at the currency. This wasn’t his ideal job, but fights were rare and it was well paying. They had settled in a pub that was almost full but still pretty quiet. The bartender had been eyeing them all night in suspicion. David looked over, waving and giving him a calm smile. His lip curled into a snarl at his display of innocence. Counting cards was far from it but there was no evidence of him doing so. The pair got up, both needing a drink. The bartender didn’t speak to them much, deeming them too suspicious to get friendly with. David could understand that.

“Daithi?” Someone called. David looked back, Irish name not being used in months. A green haired man rushed over, pulling him off his stool and hugging him. “What’re you doing here?”

“Whaddya mean? Jack, what are you doing here? Is this where you moved?”

“Yeah. Man, it’s been awhile, huh?” He laughed, relieved to see an old friend in the darkening times. Sean looked over to Marcel, the held out a hand. He shook it, hesitant but willing. “I suppose since you two are new in town you haven’t heard...”

“I have.” Marcel spoke up, “Don’t restrain Fischbach when it comes to this case. It’ll mess him up if you do.” He looked up from his glass of scotch, almost empty. “We done, Daithi?” He asked, becoming uncomfortable. David may be his boss but that didn’t mean he didn’t have to follow all of his orders. If either seemed weary when they were out, escape was quick and soon. Before David could answer, a glass shattered. The group looked back, seeing a duo holding up their matching revolvers.

“That was my wife you dirty sonnuva—“ One yelled, furious. The other cackled, a smile worn proud as could be. Sean unholstered his gun, feeling that the trouble would do nothing but escalate. “How long, hm? How long did you decide to make her an unloyal woman?” He snapped. Before the other could respond, Sean got between them. David and Marcel watched in amazement, unsure of he was stupid or brave.

“Set down the guns, lads. We don’t want to get into some trouble, do we?” He warned. The angry one huffed, stepping down. Sean nodded, forcing the other’s arm down and looking between the two, “I’d suggest apologizing to the nice man before you get into a similar state of the glass you smashed.” He jabbed his thumb at the bartender, who flipped a knife in his hand. The fighting two looked at each other, agreeing in silence. Sean walked back over to David, paler. “Sorry about that. You never know when someone’s gonna ruin a night.”

“Sean!” A man with a slight English accent walked over, looking over at Marcel and David. “Do you...know these two?” He asked. He nodded,

“Daithi and I grew up about an hour away from each other. This is his friend, Marcel.” Craig waved, disconnecting himself from the familiar face. The man turned back to the bar, the feeling mutual. “I guess we should get back to work?” He asked.

“Evan and Mark are outside, yeah.” Sean and Daithi talked for a minute longer before saying goodbye. Marcel watched them leave, a dazed looking man entering through the open door. He watched him fidget, looking for someone or something. He wasn’t sure what it was but he did know that the man had no clue either. His eyes settled on a booth occupied by a figure hidden in the shadow. Marcel would have watched him further, but his value of his life advised him to leave it alone.

-+-

John Cryo had no intention of talking to the man that had sat across from him. He continued to smoke his cigarette, nerves pressuring him into lighting up one after another. His plan failed when he started talking, “The name’s Brian. You?” His Irish accent took him by surprise, but not enough to reply. His attention was taken by the amount of performers that had lit up the small stage across the room. None were very good, except for a woman that had performed earlier that night and left the moment after.

At the moment, he was being admired by a group of ladies he had charmed and had tricked into paying for their own drinks. Pickpocketing was an art that he prided himself in. Brian couldn’t see his face, he knew. Any light was being reflected off of his tinted glasses. Attention wasn’t something John needed, but Brian had insisted on giving him. He gave off nothing but unwanted trouble. His life had been lacking some action.

“Your husband’s gonna be suspicious.” He spoke up, Brian scooted away. “Fiancé, then. Your ring was the first hint. You smell of cologne under all that cotton, but not yours. It’s coming from your chest, not your sleeves. Don’t act surprised, you were seeking strange tonight.” He explained, running his fingers through his blond hair.

“But-But how’d you know he wasn’t my husband?” He wondered, intrusive do by his skill.

“You’re here. You think a husband would ever let you go out alone. You’re about to have the rest of your life tracked, buddy. Stay outta the business and you’re all free.” He leaned forwards, winking at the group of girls he didn’t really fancy but found entertaining. Brian watched this, more confused than he was at first. “The name’s John. You’re out tonight for a reason, work or him?” He shook his hand, adjusting his multiple rings.

“Work. How about you? As much as you look like a junkie or drifter you aren’t one. I can tell.” He cackled in response, lighting another cigarette and putting it by his already lit one. John shook his head, finding it hilarious how he had attempted to try and figure his own motives out so soon.

“No reason in particular. Except for him.” A new man stepped up, wearing a pure white suit with a red and blue bow tie. John rested his chin in his hands, admiring the new performer. He had a black and white volto mask, colors split down the middle.

“Bonsoir mesdames et messieurs.” He snapped his fingers to the young woman controlling the record player, “Commencez la musique, voulez-vous?” The music started up, followed by the lights dimming.

“Des yeux qui font baisser les miens.   
Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche.  
Voilà le portrait sans retouche.   
De l’homme auquel j’appartiens.”

The room had quieted, the soft clinking of drinks the one noise that escaped.

“Quand il me prend dans ses bras.   
Il me parle tout bas.   
Je vois la vie en rose...  
Il me dit des mots d’amour.   
Des mots de tous les jours.   
Et ça me fait quelque chose.”

He stepped off the stage, walking around the room before settling in front of a tall man at the bar. The performer put his hand on his chest, fingering running up to his forehead before flicking him playfully. He moved away, beginning again.

“He has entered in my heart.   
A slice of happiness.   
That I know the reason.   
It's you for me, for you in life.   
He told me so, swore it for life.   
And as soon as I see him.   
So I feel Inside me.   
My heart beating.”

The unknown man slid next to John and Brian, stroking John’s hair as he put his legs in his lap.

“Nights of endless love.   
A great happiness that takes its place.   
The troubles, the sorrows fade away.   
Happy, happy to die.   
When he takes me in his arms.   
He whispers to me.   
I see life in pink.”

He moved over to a new group, teasing them before returning to the stage.

“Il me dit des mots d’amour.  
Des mots de tous les jours.  
Et ça me fait quelque chose.  
 Il est entré dans mon cœur.  
Une part de bonheur.  
Dont je connais la cause.  
 C’est toi pour moi, moi pour toi dans la vie.  
Il me l’a dit, l’a juré pour la vie.  
And as soon as I see him.  
So I feel inside me, my heart beating.”

He bowed, straightening out his white suit. “Bonsoir!” He waved and went out the door. Brian stayed frozen, no one in the bar wanting to break the silence he had insued. John nudged him, a grin on his face.

“I suppose I’ll be seeing you around here, again? Perhaps with a husband, soon.” He suggested and left to the bar. Brian rubbed his face, jaw slack. He looked to the glass door, contemplating leaving or staying and drinking away some of his nerves. A familiar face opened it, gesturing for him to follow. Adam looked annoyed, never a good thing. Brian slid out of the seat and met him on the street.

John stared at the selection of alcohol, contemplating what to drink first. He looked up to Tyler, who seemed more distracted than he was other times. “La Vie En Rose, huh?” He asked. He looked over to him the moment he spoke, recognizing the song and voice.

“Him? Yeah, he’s good.” He gave him a few shots of vodka to start off, finding it amusing how awful his tolerance was. John downed two shots with much regret, throat burning. “Shame we don’t know who he is, though.” He shrugged, trying not to act bothered.

“Oh my Sinatra. You like him.” John laughed, Tyler took away the rest of his drinks, turning red.

“I’m 26. There’s no ‘liking someone’.” He chided, finding the idea stupid. The blond shook his head, laughing at his insistence that he didn’t have a crush.

“Fine. You love him.” He changed. Tyler leaned over the bar, jabbing a finger in his face as a warning.

“Shut up. I don’t like anyone and I certainly don’t love anyone. Keep running your mouth and my patience may run a little bit more thin when it comes to you, Cryo.” He warned. John swatted his finger away, stealing a beer from the man that had just passed out beside him.

“I know what it’s like to harbor no romantic feelings whatsoever. You, Wilds, do not act the same.” He slapped some of the money he’d stolen from a man on the street and got up. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back in two days.”

“Always is.” Tyler waved him goodbye. John paused outside the door, staring inside. Never too busy, never very empty. No major bar fights but never an uninteresting night. Anyone that had ever entered, no matter what, could always be pulled back.

Pulled back to the bar down the street.


	2. Nightlife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More death! I'm so sorry, I swear it's relevant.

The police station buzzed with life in the busy hours of the evening. In the office of Mark Fischbach, a concerned woman was draining all of his energy away. Twisting his ring on his finger, he interrupted her hysterical sobbing. “Ma’am I know you’re concerned about your daughter but please.” He sighed.

“You don’t understand! It’s been three days! What if they get her?” His head shot up, stomach dropping at the last sentence.

“Who’s ‘they’?” He demanded, trying to remain calm. She swallowed a hiccup, rubbing her smeared makeup.

“She’s been involved with some gang and I couldn’t get to her in time please I just need to know she’s okay.” She pleaded. Mark smiled, demeanor changing immediately.

“We’ll try our best, ma’am. Now can you please describe how she acted the last few times you saw her?”

As the interview ended, someone else tapped on his door. A man he had recognized as his partner’s husband entered. “Good evening, Brock. Can I help you with something?”

“It’s morning, right now.” He corrected, before continuing, “I’m just checking in to see if you’re okay. Evan explained what happened last night.” He sat across him, giving Mark a sympathetic look. He had gotten tired of them, as of late, but Brock’s somehow had some real meaning with it. He, to be truthful, was dying. It had barely been 24 hours and everything had changed. He had no one to come home to, and no one to come home to him when he worked late. There wouldn’t be any more deep conversations and petty fights.

“Not really. But I’m not leaving the case. I need to know why Anthony of all people was singled out. I need to know why it happened whether it was a hit and run or something worse.” He tapped his pencil against the desk, not smiling anymore, “Tell Fong I’ll be fine once whoever killed him is in the same state.” Brock reached across the desk, resting his hand on his.

“It’ll get better. Trust me.” He assured and waved goodbye. Mark wasn’t sure if he was right or not. With the amount of coping he was doing, it didn’t seem likely. Jack traded places with him, looking as worn out as he did.

“You need to go home, Mark.” He advised. “And this isn’t gonna be an argument. You go home and get some sleep or I’ll make you.” He warned, jabbing a finger at him. Mark rubbed his temples, smiling at his determination.

“I have to work late, Jack. I don’t have an option.” He reminded. He scowled, picking up the punching card on the wall and sticking it in the slot. A click was the only noise in the room. Jack pulled it out and set it back.

“Not anymore.”

“You’re a pain.”

“Yeah but I’m fun.” He grinned, dragging him by the tie out of his office. Evan and Craig looked up from their desks, Brock with them. “I’m getting this dummy some rest.” He explained. Mark tried to undo his tie, Jack yanking it tighter to assure that he didn’t escape. “Shush.” He demanded. Brock giggled, though still concerned with how much struggling Mark was doing.

“Let..Go.” He warned, prying his hand from the piece of clothing. “I’m going willingly, you know.” Jack smiled, triumphant. “Now that I’m out of that office, I guess I’ll be leaving.” Mark opened the door to the building, allowing him to go first and following after.

“I’m guessing you’ll be back before 7?” He supposed, his friend’s stubbornness knowing no bounds. Mark smiled, readjusting his tie.

“If you’re really this insistent, then maybe I can stay out for a few.” He nudged Jack, who looked like he was about to explode. “But only a few. I don’t need to have a headache for the rest of the day.” He warned. Jack hid a mischievous grin, enjoying that he hadn’t specified which type of alcohol he’d been talking about. “Now, where to?”

=/=

Brian hugged Scotty, kissing the top of his head before going out. Adam was waiting at the edge of the driveway, smile used to fool his fiancé of his true manor. “Plans?” He asked, trailing behind as he began to walk. Adam turned around, starting to walk backwards.

“Boss needs us to take out a rogue member. Been feeding information to the police for weeks. Don’t worry, won’t get as bloody as last time.” Adam smiled, patting his shoulder. Brian didn’t feel very assured.

“Who, exactly, are we taking out?” He wondered, unsure if he’d be able to ask him or not. Brian wasn’t even sure if he would know who they were talking about. The organization was pretty big, spread out all over the state. Brian wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle taking a stranger’s life again.

“A guy that goes by ‘Delirious’, he’s arriving in town in an hour,” He pulled out a gun and handed it to Brian, “The guy’s a little loopy, and strong, just aim for the kneecaps and feet. I’ll handle the rest.” He nodded, swallowing his fear. He was getting paid a lot for this. Do it for Scotty, he told himself. Brian didn’t ask anymore questions.

They arrived at the train station ten minutes later, at the peak of its business. Crowds pushed past them, no one noticing how long they stood waiting. Adam assured him Delirious would be arriving at the last train. Twenty minutes away. As the bustle died down, two men were left. They had guns at their sides, the gold of their badges putting Brian on edge. He nudged Adam, motioning to them. "Not a word. They won't approach us, don't be worried. It's too early, they're probably not on a case."

"Isn't that the husband of the guy we killed, though?" He whispered. Adam rolled his eyes, elbowing him.

"Again, they won't approach us. We'll be fine." He smiled. Brian sighed, shaking off his nerves and trying not to seem so anxious. They left by the next train, leaving the station empty. At the final moment, another figure stepped out. He wore a light blue trench coat, fedora casting shadows over his face. "That's him." He got up, pulling Brian with him. The figure turned around, facing them. Delirious wore a white mask, making it impossible to read his expression. But based on the fact he was pulling out a gun on his own, he was pissed.

"Whoever sent you, tell them to bug off." He snapped, stepping away from them. "What?" He looked to his side, nothing there. "I'm not doing that!" He hissed at the air. Adam nodded, as if to say I told you he was loopy. "What was I saying? Oh, right. Go away. I won't hesitate." Brian turned his aim to the left.

"Even if I shoot them?" He questioned. Adam sent him an annoyed look. Delirious shifted his weight. "I won't hesitate either. You wouldn't want them to get hurt, would you? In all honesty, we were never after you."

"Wait...What?" He dropped his arm, glancing between him and his 'friend'. Brian nodded,

"Yep. They're the real target. We don't care about you. You're free to go, but I need them dead." He sent Adam the same look, motioning for him to get it done. Delirious held up his hands, dropping his weapon.

"Let him be, okay? He hasn’t done anything. Whoever wants him dead, they'd be satisfied with me. You and I both know it." He looked back over to his left, "Don’t argue with me on this."

"Okay." Adam shrugged and fired. Brian flinched, seeing blood beginning to trickle out of the hole in his head. "Well, that was easy. Thanks, Brian. Onto the next one." He patted his back, looking up to the security cameras and shooting them. "Time to go. Nice plan." He walked past the body, careful to avoid the blood. He was shaking, why was he shaking so much?

"Why didn't you shoot the cameras earlier? I mean, they'll still have the footage." He wondered, walking behind him. Adam cackled, shaking his head.

"We didn't need to. We came while everyone was going in and out, it's impossible to find anyone. We avoided all the angles, but they could always see where we were going. Plus it's fun. Especially if you hit the glass." He imitated shooting a gun with his hands, giggling. Brian kept his eyes on the ground, kicking a rock. He'd just decieved a man by using his own insanity against him. So much blood was on his hands. And he was doing it all for Scotty. Nothing mattered as much as Scotty.

Adam began to explain their next victim, making Brian feel more sick than ever. "His name's Bryce, a friend of Delirious. Unlike him, he's perfectly sane and less easy to manipulate. We're not completely sure of his schedule, so we're gonna be watching his house. Now, you don't have to get anywhere near him." He patted his head, as if he were a child.

"Then what's my job?" He asked, knowing there was a catch.

"If he runs out, you shoot him. Easy as that. Doesn't matter where, just do it." He pulled out another gun, but instead of bullets, small vials were in their place. "No matter where, he's gonna die." That didn't assure him at all.

=\=

The bar wasn't particularly busy. It was mediocre and if there was anything the bar wasn't, it was mediocre. The longer Tyler thought on it, the longer it seemed that the Irishman that showed up yesterday was the reason. Cheated at every game, running off his customers. Yet he hadn't left. He was getting tired of it, but he still had a job to do. "Want me to get rid of him?" John sat down on a stool, jabbing a finger at David Nagle. Tyler shook his head,

"Stupid bodyguard isn't going to let you any place near him. And if you do, I have a feeling he beats people past unconsciousness." He gave him a shot glass, filling it with Scotch. "Thanks for the offer, I guess. The only thing that's gonna bring them back is gone until tomorrow." John downed the drink, sliding the glass back over.

"Ah yes. Your French Mystery." He teased. "How's the investigation going? I heard Evan's husband got involved." He pulled off his glasses, squinting. "What was his name? Was it...No..." He swallowed the next shot, "Ah! Mark!"

"First of all, his husband isn't an investigator." Tyler laughed, leaving to pick up someone's empty beer bottle. "And second, Mark's married. I mean, was. Evan's husband is Brock. You see him all the time."

"Right." John rolled his eyes, "Like I care. Wait, is that the guy who makes really good martinis?" He asked, eyes lighting up. Tyler grumbled,

"His martinis aren't that good." He stalked away, leaving John alone. He slid some money that may or may not have been his and walked over to David and Marcel. The two looked up from their newest earnings, giving him a suspicious look.

"Ye gonna join or not?" David smiled, slapping a ten on the table. John shook his head, he already knew all the cars scams. He had invented a few. "What d'you want then?" He saw him glance back at Marcel, muttering something inaudible.

"Just wanted to...Talk." John sat across from them, faking a polite grin. Marcel stepped forwards, but David settled a hand on his chest.

"Let 'im be." He turned back to John, "I suppose you're wanting me to leave?" He wondered if David expected John to be shocked. Reading people was his job, and frankly, the Irishman was doing an awful job of doing so.

John could see how nervous he was. It was subtle and he'd worked on suppressing it. It was the tap of a foot every few seconds and the way his eyes changed from his nose to his ears. Never his eyes directly. Marcel didn't become the same until John shifted, revealing a dual pair of knives he always kept on him. "Nah, you can stay as long as you want. But, if you do...You've gotta play fair. A man's ego is very fragile and cheating at a game is cheating him." He sighed, never looking over to Marcel, "You're spooking the players and that's bad for business. I don't want to spill any blood on these nice chairs, so play nice or lets take this outside."

"Where's your evidence?" Marcel snapped. John laughed, beginning to study him. He didn't back off, his snarl becoming more menacing.

"Oh, you still want to play?" John called over one of Tyler's workers, asking for a pack of cigarettes. They returned with three, informing him that Tyler had restricted his usage. "Ah well. Anyways..." He lit one before continuing, "You see, you mumbled under your breath, eyes moving too fast to be skimming your own cards. And another thing," He stood up, walking over to Marcel. He stepped away, but John grabbed his shoulder. He unbuttoned his jacket and pulled out a pair of aces and a winning hand. "Your bodyguard is an accomplice. I have to admit, it's very subtle."

"Ah, I suppose you're part of the business too..?" David chuckled, though he seemed terrified of John exposing him.

"I dabble. Listen, I could care less what you do in your free time. But, take it somewhere else." He leaned down to David's ear, gripping the back of his throat, "Am I understood?"

"Back off." Marcel threatened, pushing him away. John dropped his cigarette, looking back over to him.

"You want to do this?" He grabbed him by the collar, pushing him up against the wall with a knife to his neck. "I dare you," He cut him, a small nick enough to make him bleed but an inch away from being fatal. He stepped back, "Anyways, heed the warning. It's your only one." He wiped the blood off on his sleeve and returned to the bar. Marcel huffed, dusting himself off.

"What a prick...We're not gonna listen to him, are we?" He asked. David sighed, picking up the ten he'd left and his deck of cards. "Oh come on! It's just one guy! We could totally—"

"No. There's plenty of bars and casinos. Besides, we can stay, we just can't play cards. The others don't know that. We can spook them without doing anything." He cut the stack of money in half and put it in his hand.

"Since when did you get so intelligent?"

"Since I learned how to cheat. Acting dumb helps. How about we go find a place with good drinks?" He stood up, beginning to walk to the door. Marcel followed suit, seeming unsatisfied with having to go. The door was thrown open before he could reach the handle, a white haired lady—no, a man—pushing them away. The two's eyes followed him before leaving. "Well that was weird..." He mumbled. Marcel nodded and began down the street.

"John!" Smitty took a seat beside him at the bar. "Gimme a, uh, John. What do they have?" He asked. John mumbled something in his ear, "A bottle of vodka." He slapped his hands on the wood of the bar. Tyler groaned, walking over to them.

"You got an ID?" He asked, trying to keep his eyes from flicking to the blue dress he was wearing. Smitty let out a frustrated growl. "That's what I thought." John snickered, finding something amusement in the situation. Smitty glared at Tyler, gritting his teeth.

"Listen, buddy. I just got off of twelve hours of work and do not feel like remembering it. Give the bottle before I find one and smash it over your head. It'd be a real shame too. You're pretty." He smiled, unable to tell if it was flirty or menacing. Tyler rolled his eyes.

"No." He insisted. Smitty looked back over to John, giving him a glare. Without warning, he grabbed the shot glass from in front of him and downed it. "What the—What was that?" Smitty smiled,

"That was good. D'you have any tequila?" He asked.

"I am not selling either of you any alcohol." He proclaimed, unsure of what to make of the underage and perhaps insane man.

"I have an ID!" John complained, waving the card to make it certain. It was someone else's, but Tyler had known John for a long time. He was years older than 21. "Tyler! Lemme have drinks!" He whined. He refused to deal with this tonight.

"No, I don't care if you have an ID." He turned away, going to tend to his less boisterous regulars.

"Is Adam near?" He asked, looking down at his arms. Smitty sighed, allowing him to see. "I don't see why you can't find another way to earn money." He ran his fingers over the new bruises and a long cut. Smitty's fingers twitched at he did so, fighting the urge to pull away.

"Because I don't have a degree, I owe Adam money, and it's a small price to pay for acting like his property for half the day." He tried to convince him it wasn't bad, but it always failed. It wasn't his ideal job, but it was the best he had. "If my singing career gets even a small boost, I promise I'll move in with you." It was a promise they'd made when he'd signed on as Adam's toy three years ago. John held his face, kissing his forehead. "That's gay." He whispered. John shoved him.


	3. British Betrayal

Mark spent his weekend tracking down Eleanor Madison's daughter, Eliza. Needless to say, he was becoming restless. There was no one to come home to. His once colorful house felt as dead as Anthony. He didn't resort to anything. Alcohol didn't settle with him, drugs were noticeable and frankly, would ruin his career, any other coping mechanisms were thrown out the window by Jack and Evan's watchful eyes.

She was quite an interesting young woman, though. Eliza was a perfect student, a perfect teenager, and a perfect person. Until a month ago, when she had choked the neighbor almost to death. Her mother was terrified of her. She saw her bringing random devices and weapons to her room and nothing but scraps and ash to be left when she walked to school. Her suspicious behavior had been fueled by some implanted belief, after Mark and Evan had found her journal. She wasn't the only person involved, that much was obvious.

She wrote about theories and bizarre connections, sketched a map of the city and had circles and 'X's in a random places. They had showed it to Wade and Bob, their forensic exporters. After ten minutes of arguing, they'd found that they were popular drug and weapon dealing places. Mark had assigned a pair of officers, Ainsley and Jay, to take care of the dealers.

"Did she have any access to narcotics? Guns?" He had asked Eleanor, who shook her head no.

"She was so innocent..." She sniffled, "I don't know anything that would make her change!" She sobbed.

"Maybe not something...Maybe someone. Ma'am, did your daughter have a partner? A new friend?" Evan spoke up. Mark wanted to ask about her activities. Whoever Eliza was involved with, Anthony may have been too. He needed to know. Again, Eleanor shook her head.

"No, all she talked to was her study group. She's known them since she was a child." The two glanced between each other, wondering what to do. There was almost no leading evidence, and no one had seen Eliza. "I know all of them, if that helps. All sweet girls, really. I wouldn't ever think they could do something so horrifying, but I thought that about her too." She stared down at her lap, frowning.

"If you could write down their names, that would be wonderful." Evan said, giving her a piece of paper and pen. Mark excused himself, leaving the room. Craig and Jack were waiting on the other side, both confused expressions identical.

"We may have a lead, not sure. How have Fitz and Ainsley been doing?" He questioned. Craig jabbed a finger down the hall,

"They've completely wiped a few places. Still got a lot to go. We can handle the investigation, for awhile. You can go and help them, or Bob and Wade." Jack suggested, desperately wanting him to take a break.

"No." That was expected, "We'll all be working, I'll give them clearance to get four other people to help." Evan walked out, Eleanor and a piece of paper with him. "Got it?" He turned to Eleanor, "Again, thank you. We're doing everything we can." He assured. Another officer walked over and escorted her out. "Okay, who're we looking for?"

"Nancy Joshton, Katy Isaac, Judy Shirley, and Laura Christy. All high school seniors." He read off, "Should we go off in pairs? We may scare them otherwise. If one of them really is this messed up, we shouldn't be alone."

"Okay, Evan, go with Craig. Jack, you're with me. Get Lester and Howell, they can help." He demanded. Craig lifted his hand,

"Actually, it's Howell-Lester, now. For both of them." He explained. Mark nodded, not too focused on their relationship. "Ah, not necessary." He laughed and went to go get the two agents. Jack grabbed Mark by the arm, pulling him away from Evan.

"What was that?" He mumbled, "We don't need help on this. Unless, of course, you're taking a break?" He supposed. Mark scowled, "Yeah, thought so. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Having Phil and Dan will help." Jack cringed. "What?"

"Just not used to that. Always hear Dan and Phil, not Phil and Dan. Seems weird." He shrugged.

"Okay, well, anyways. We could just use the extra hands, is all. Nothing's wrong."

"I call BS. Mark, you have to understand, you know that being sad about this is okay. You just lost your husband, you don't have to keep on acting tough." He rested a hand on his shoulder, but it was brushed away. "I want you to take the weekend off. I'm serio—"

"Fischbach! McLoughlin! Get down here!" Fitz yelled, head popping up from the stairs. The two glanced between the other, sharing the we'll talk about this later look before following him. Downstairs, a man was yelling at Dan, who was on the verge of yelling back.

"Oh Jesus." Jack muttered.

"Where is he?" The man yelled, slamming his hands on Dan's desk, "You were there you sorry excuse for a cop! You saw what happened, you know very well he's innocent!" He looked over. "Sean! Tell him!"

"Listen, I don't know what you're talking about. Yes I was there and your friend is," He scoffed, "so far from innocent. He nearly killed a man!"

"I'm about to do the same if you don't let me see him!" He yelled.

"Calm down, both of you!" Phil snapped, getting between them. He turned to Dan, "What's going on?" He asked. Jack walked over, rubbing his face.

"Daithi! What're you doing here?" He mumbled, guiding him away from the other two.

"Marcel. They've got Marcel for no reason and I'm gonna kill him!" He hissed, glaring at Dan. He flipped him off in response. "Sonnuva–!"

"He's in custody, probably. Calm down. I can take you to him if you want, but you need to explain what happened." He murmured. Daithi sighed, unclenching his fists. He gave Jack an embarrassed look, beginning to come down from his rage.

"Sorry. I'm just worried." Jack guided him through the halls, trying to ignore what Dan called David as they left. "Okay, I guess you may want to know why I was screaming at that good for no-Eh, guy. Well, Marcel and I were out, after another successful night of playing cards." He smiled, Jack giving him a disapproving look.

"'Playing', yeah, okay." He nodded.

"An' this girl just runs over and attacks Marcel! She was still in high school, I dunno how she managed to sneak in. Especially with a gun." David paused for a moment, "They won't let him get medical help. The bullets went straight through but he's got one in the arm and leg." He went still, scaring Jack over anything. He was never still. Always fidgeted, shifted, and did anything to keep moving. "They haven't caught her."

"Daithi, I'm sorry. Why did they arrest Marcel?" He asked. David glanced at the floor.

"Well, he may have stabbed her." He shrugged, "It was self-defense, though."

"Okay, fine. Until I know more, I'll believe you. Let's go see Marcel." He opened a door, leading to a hall that differed from the rest of the building. Marcel looked up to them, an unconscious guard at his feet.

"Uh, hi?" He was holding his arm, blood staining his sleeve. He'd torn the other off, tying it around his calf. "He's alive, I accidentally hit him with the door." He said. Jack walked over, checking his pulse. Steady. He turned him over, no evidence of a punch or kick anywhere. Marcel wasn't lying.

"Oh my days, we need to get you to a hospital!" David yelled, picking him up.

"Put me down! I'm gonna be fine! She missed my arteries!" David looked down at the hole in his wrist, skeptical. "Okay, for the most part. But I'm not passed out, so that's good." Marcel pushed himself out of his arms, hissing as his foot hit the ground. "Okay, I may need a little bit of medical help." He said, teeth gritted.

"We'll take you to the hospital, o—" Jack was cut off by the slam of a door.

"You will not. Cunningham has been on our list for a year." Dan interrupted. Jack scowled,

"What happened to your accent?" He asked.

"You really thought I was American? Listen, Britain's been watching this guy for months, he fell off the grid awhile ago. Phil and I have been tracking him down for some time now. We'll be taking him." He explained.

"No you won't." David hissed, glaring. Dan sighed dramatically, pulling out a gun.

"Yeah, we will. Stay out of our way and no one gets hurt." He explained, "And you'll stop investigating Eliza. We've taken care of her."

"You killed her!" Jack yelled, whipping out his own. "What kind of sick bastards would do that? She was just a girl!" Dan hesitated, grip on the trigger loosening for a moment before he refocused.

"She was a murderer. She was in with a bad group. Death was better at our hands than them. Hand him over." He turned his aim on Marcel, who was hidden behind David. "I seriously don't feel like killing anyone today." He said.

"Then don't! Marcel is in our custody, you don't have any rights over him."

"Actually, I do. He slaughtered five officers of Britain's Navy. He's ours. Manslaughter weighs out self-defense, I'd think."

"Shut up, both of you!" David screamed, "The only place Marcel is going is the hospital. You can sort it out there, but if you're so desperate to take him back to London or whatever...It's gonna be a corpse if you let him bleed out any longer." He walked to Dan, the barrel being pressed against his forehead. "Oh piss off!" He snatched it from his hand and unloaded it.

"How'd you–?" He paused, glancing down at his empty hands. "What?" David walked back over to Marcel, picking him up. He walked past the two and out the door. Jack still had his aim on Dan. "Yeah, like you're gonna shoot me. Do it, ruin your career then.” Jack shifted, knowing himself that he wouldn’t.

“Phil needs you. And I’m not a monster. You aren’t either.” Jack lowered his gun and grabbed Dan’s shoulder, “But if you try and pull something like this again?” He scowled, making sure Dan could see his fury, “You’re gonna go back to London in a body bag.” He let go and slammed the door as he left. Phil rushed in, looking at Dan.

"What just happened?" He asked, "Did we get Cunningham?" He wondered.

"No. Not yet." Dan wrapped his arm around Phil's shoulder, kissing his cheek. "We'll be back soon. Promise." Phil looked doubtful, but smiled. He trusted him. “C’mon, we’ve got to head to the hospital to sort this out.” He said. Dan grabbed Phil’s hand and pulled him out of the room, not wanting to speak of what happened.

Jack, David, and Marcel were already gone when they reached the main room. Jack had told Mark what had happened to Eliza before he left, meaning he was explaining it to Eleanor. Dan bit back his regret. The girl was too close to finding out what they were doing, along with the rest of her ‘friends’. They were yet to find out every English agent that had been planted in the state and they needed to find the rest before their cover was blown. She hadn’t figured out why they were there, though. But the others were close and the two’d be damned if they let a group of teenagers expose their whole operation.

The two left the building and went to go find where they’d taken Marcel.

=\=

Mark went home with more weight than he knew how to deal with. Eliza was dead by the hands of one of his closest friends and was learning more and more. The girl that attacked Marcel had been identified as Judy Shirley, had similar drawings and theories in her notebooks. Nonsense of foreign agents working working among them, but it didn’t seem like nonsense anymore. Dan and Phil were British and the chances they were working alone were slim. “She was a murderer...” He said to himself, recalling what Dan had said. Was her need to expose the agents strong enough to make her kill? If so, who? Why?

Judy seemed mentally unstable too, she’d been held in custody for attempted murder and had to be sedated to get her under control. Whatever they were trying to expose, it was bad. “Better at our hands than them.” He echoed. Who’s hands? “Was the whole group in danger? Were they trying to show something else?” Dan wouldn’t have confessed the information if it worked against him. Perhaps they needed to expose the agents to bring something else to light. Mark sighed, a headache coming on. “I miss you.” He muttered, pulling Anthony’s ring out of his pocket. Was Anthony involved too?

He’d always had the need to bring justice to any situation. He was truthful and defended any position he held well. That’s what Mark loved about him. This was too difficult. Maybe Jack was right. The case was getting too personal and too complicated way earlier than anyone expected. Mark was far from being okay. He wasn’t surviving his husband’s death, he was hanging on to a sliver of hope that he’d catch who decided that his secrets was worth his life. “I’m sorry.” He covered his face, eyes burning with tears. “I’m going to find out who did this to you.” He swore, “Even if it’s the last thing I do."

There was a knock at the door, putting him on edge. He wasn't up to talking tonight, he had work and admittedly needed sleep. He opened it, faced with Dan and Phil. Mark reached for the gun behind his back, suspicious. "What do you want?" He mumbled, glaring. Dan held up his hands in defense.

"We'll be gone soon." He said. Mark didn't let up. Phil stepped in, taking over.

"We're just wondering what'll happen to us. Will we—Are we going to keep our jobs?" He asked. Mark rubbed his temples, muttering a curse. He opened his door, allowing the two in. Of everyone, besides Jack, they'd visited the most. Anthony had decided they'd end up together before anyone else.

"As you know, I don't have the level of credibility to fire you from your real jobs. But your positions at the department may be...compromised. Based on the answers you're going to be giving me." He explained, pacing the room and keeping his eyes trained on them. "Now, boys, what exactly is your job?" The two exchanged an anxious look, seeming to communicate without words. Mark was already frustrated, he didn't want to deal with this. "Five seconds..." He announced.

“We work for the British government.” Phil answered, ignoring Dan’s baffled look. “We’ve been placed here to keep track of some escapes fugitives, and bring them back if possible.” He explained.

“So Marcel Cunningham isn’t the only person you’re after...” He said, more of a statement than a question. Dan and Phil nodded. Mark leaned back in his chair, "Why'd you kill Eliza?"

"I'll handle this one." Dan said, resting his hand on Phil's. "She was trying to expose us. We're too far in, and we couldn't let that happen."

"But we're talking about murder, Daniel." He reminded, "And you said she was a murderer too..." He looked down at the floor, trying to figure the two out.

"She is," Phil said, "Eliza killed one of our operatives, Tyler Oakley." Mark nodded.

"And why is a group of teenagers hell-bent on exposing you two? What have you been doing?" He glared.

"None of your—" Phil slapped Dan's chest, making him stop. He gave him an annoyed look, but gave in. Phil smiled and turned back to Mark.

"With all respect, it's classified." He said politely. Mark hummed,

"That's fine. I'll expect your badges on my desk by tomorrow." He got up, opening the door and motioning for them to leave.

"We're getting Cunningham no matter what." Dan muttered. Mark smiled.

"It's been nice, working with you. I wish you two the best." There was no venom in his words, shocking them. "I really did enjoy your company. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find out who killed my husband." He shut the door, leaving the two outside. Phil turned to Dan.

"No, I'm not doing it." Phil scowled, "Phil—"

"As much as I want to go back to London, we've already done so much." He pointed out. "Let's just help him, okay? Marcel isn't going anywhere." Dan crossed his arms. Phil continued to scowl, not willing to put up with his husband's stubbornness. Dan groaned.

"Fine. Cannot believe I got married to such an idiot." He knocked on the door, "We're ready to explain." He yelled. Mark opened the door, quirking an eyebrow.

"Oh really?"

=\=

Ohm looked down at the grave, no name etched into it but a drawing. A mask and pair of pistols, the words "The Best Maniac" scrawled under it. He couldn't stay long, someone would get suspicious. It was hard to believe he was gone, the grave had been there for ages, but he hadn't been. Delirious' body was either dumped somewhere or rotting in an autopsy room. Either way, no one would know who he was and what he'd done. Who he helped. He glanced around, eyes locking onto a pair that had been making circles around the graveyard for the past hour.

Ohm crouched, placing a pair of blue asphodels on his grave. He didn't stand up for awhile, knowing the two would be waiting. Ohm walked to a nearby statue, out of their sight. He glanced over the hip of the stone angel, checking their position. One had completely pulled out his gun, pointing it at him. The other seemed more hesitant.

A hand touched his shoulder, jolting him. He turned, sliding a knife down his sleeve and holding it to his throat. The man blocked it with his own, the action happening in a matter of seconds. "Dude, chill." He said, pushing their weapons down. "I know they're watching you. Follow me." He waved his hands around, smiling and making it seem if they were talking about something else. He grabbed his hand and lead him away, making sure he was the closer one to the two. He walked him until they were down the block, turning into an alleyway.

"Uh, thanks. What's your name?" He asked. The man paused, turning back to him. He looked him up and down, silently returning the question. "Ohm. Ohmwrecker." He said. The man nodded, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "Are you going to tell me yours?" He didn't give his name out for free, and certainly not to strangers. He motioned to his coat pocket before turning back around and climbing up the fire escape of a building. Ohm reaches into his pocket, a paper in it. He pulled it out, a phone number and the word Kryoz written in messy cursive. "How'd he..." Ohm didn't go after him. The pair had to be on his tail, still. He continued forwards, hoping to disappear before they found him.

His thoughts didn't leave Kryoz for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am dying. The next chapter may take a bit longer, I've run into some writer's block...

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter down! Feedback is always appreciated and second will be up soon.


End file.
